Sex Ed at Shibusen
by Sweeslynn
Summary: How puberty and learning about puberty affects all of the Shibusen kids. I smuggled in some Maka x Soul, though not in the way you'd expect. Other pairings might crop up soon.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Don't look at me like that. I'll get some character development in if I can. This isn't meant to be thrilling. Also, this is kind of a test to see if my sentence construction is too stiff. Tell me if it is, kay?

Sex Ed at Shibusen Academy

It was science time, or more specifically, Biology time at Shibusen Academy. After several student complaints had been filed to Shinigami-sama, Professor Stein had reduced dissections from three times weekly to only two times weekly. It hadn't been one of the prettiest scenes when Shinigami-sama had to reprimand him, but we'll save that story for another day.

Anyway. Given the entire class was occupied with Punnet Squares, it surprised no one Maka was dutifully tackling all she could before the day closed with a final "KILL KON KAN KON". She had better things to read at home, and she didn't want to be stuck with more homework than she had to be. That was the way she worked, and that was the way she lived: Take care of every obligation before you slack off.

On the other hand, Soul was staring vacantly at his sheet. He took advantage of the rare quiet spell in the classroom to let his mind wander. He could just finish the stupid squares later, after all. It wasn't long before his train of thought took him in a direction he didn't want to go, and he cringed. He elbowed his meister, thankful he had been assigned to a seat close to her.

"Oy, Maka." He whispered, reluctant to break the silence. "What?" Maka almost snapped, irritated her concentration was broken. "We're learning Reproduction right now, huh? Isn't this so much better than what we had to learn last year?" She was instantly subdued, and her only answer was her green eyes widening in utter horror. This was a trip down memory lane even more unpleasant than some memories of combat, more arduously awkward than any situation with her father.

Sex Ed had happened at Shibusen. And nobody had done anything to stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'll intersperse storyline like this with little character-centric drabbles, although drabble might imply something too short.

It had been a pleasant winter day…so far. All of the bright-eyed, fresh faced kids in Maka and Soul's class were wondering what the next unit in science was, given they'd just endured an exam on atoms and bonding and whatnot. The poor twelve-to-thirteen year olds had no idea of what they'd have to struggle through next.

Professor Cid strolled in late, but everyone knew why once they saw the stack of Xeroxes in his burly, steroid-tastic arms. Without further ado he asked Black Star to pass them out. Within the first semester of school at Shibusen, he'd already been established as the class whipping boy. He did quite a lot of labor to make up for all the tests he tried to cheat on. The latest incident would keep him under Cid's thumb for quite a long time.

Cid gave the class a look that, if they hadn't known better, would have seemed like pity before he began his address. "Afternoon, everyone. This week we'll begin our unit on sexual education."

The news traveled throughout the class like a ripple. A giggle here, a groan from Soul, and soon the consensus was clear: No one was very comfortable with or interested in the idea. "WHAT THE HELL, CID?" Black Star cried. Good thing everyone was used to how crippled he was at controlling the volume of his voice.

The words kept coming out of their teacher's mouth, undaunted. "The handout you'll be receiving is for your parents. If they don't want you to participate, they'll have to check the box and sign their name-"

The floodgates had been opened. A torrent of complaints started, and Cid would have to wait it out.

"I don't want to hear about it from some perv teacher."

"We know this stuff already!"

"I've got MTV, damnit!"

"My Papa already told me everything…in too much detail…."

Nobody could quite pinpoint where that particular voice came from. Even so, Tsubaki and Soul both knew. They both gave Maka's shoulder a quick pat.

Cid cleared his throat. "Is that all?" Apart from a gust of huffy sighs, he got no response. He began anew. "You may have picked up the, er, mechanics from your parents and the television, but most of you probably haven't heard the scientific perspective. You also have no idea of some of the unseen consequences of um, intimacies. They way they affect your soul."

Nobody had anticipated a lecture on sex and _souls_. Some of the brainier kids in the class perked up.

"We're going to have to begin with the basics, regardless. To make sure we're all on the same footing."

Soul's face met Soul's palm. Tsubaki sympathized.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: What started out as a drabble got a bit too long. Oh well. As long as you don't get too bored...

Death the Kid eyed the human biology textbook in front of him. Father didn't want to entrust a matter like this to tutors, and the Death God had no time for himself, let alone teaching his kid. "It's better if you find things out for yourself." Shinigami-sama had said gaily, plopping the heavy book down into his son's waiting arms.

"Even so, you're welcome to sit in on as many tutorials at Shibusen as you like. The only one I really recommend-" Death the Kid had learned a long time ago to take recommendations and requests as orders, since his father spoke softly and carried a big stick-"Is the one on Thursday. That one covers souls. Got it?"

He turned the page. The diagram that popped in front of him almost brought tears to his eyes- finally, real symmetry in the human body! Such a thing was rarer than people might think. One's dominant arm was actually slightly longer than one's weak arm, and it was the same way with legs. One's eyeballs, given a long enough time, would start to have little differences in the way their eyelids swaddled them, one eye slightly bigger than the other. The creases on people's palms were never identical in both hands, and these maddening imperfections never stopped.

Here was a thing of real beauty. It was bizarre looking, to be sure. It almost looked like it belonged on an alien, but it was almost graceful in how self-contained it seemed. He closed his eyes and imagined all of those perfectly symmetrical wombs rocking between perfectly symmetrical pelvises inside perfectly symmetrical hips, all over the world. Sometimes anatomy was a wonderful thing.

"Hey Kid," Liz said, swinging the door of his bedroom wide open to let both herself and her sister inside. "Ready for sync practice?"

Death made the very fatal mistake of flinching and looking over his shoulder. Patty scampered over to look at the page he was on, and started laughing the way only Patty could. Now he only felt more tense and defensive. Having only met the Thompson sisters a month ago, Death was wondering if he'd ever get used to their uncanny ability to find something comical about him, all the time. Sometimes it got so irritating they couldn't even synchronize properly.

That time, Liz did something he never expected. She laid a hand on his head and said, right through her smirk, "I know. I think they're scary too." Death couldn't help but chuckle, and soon they all shared a laugh - the first time they all laughed together.

It was true, the Thompson sisters didn't find him intimidating at all, like others might. They saw through him all the time, and knew he was riddled with imperfections. The strange thing about it was that he didn't feel awful when they brought it up. When the sisters were around, those errors seemed natural and not like a condemnation. Whatever he messed up, they still admired him. No matter what they said, he knew they didn't see him as a washout, or a loser, or a failure. That's how the Thompson sisters became a real asset to Death the Kid.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Someone suggested writing a chapter about Chrona and Ragnarok, but the flashbacks on her childhood just seemed so screwed up. I can't bring myself to concoct a funny situation from it…sorry.

By now, they'd been through everything. They'd been through the hideous STD slides (This could happen to you, kids!), and horrible allegories for menstruation: "So Mr. Uterus decides to make things _just right_ for the baby, if she's ever conceived, by lining his inner walls and stockpiling precious blood." They'd been through every birth control device ever devised by man, and every disease devised by nature.

They'd been through anonymous Q and A. At the end of the day, a brave few ill-informed students would put slips in the Enlightenment Box. Questions would be drawn from random the next day. In most cases, the result was all-too-explicit questions followed by stammered explanations from Cid.When Maka had seen Black Star's attempt at nonchalance while stuffing his question into the box, she laughed. "I think we'll all know it's your question if it ever gets picked." All she got was a scowl at the time, but later she would be proven correct.

That Wednesday, Cid pulled out the only question he'd ever refuse to answer adequately in the entirety of his teaching career. "How does one become-" He squinted as if he were rereading the paper, and his face fell. "How does one become…..very big. And satisfying for the la-. Oh no."

A unanimous sea of eyes swept to Black Star's form. He had drawn attention and, as usual, failed to notice it wasn't the right kind of attention. "HEY, PROFESSOR." He roared. "WHAT'S THE ANSWER TO THAT KID'S QUESTION?" Tsubaki could do nothing but sigh these days, and sigh she did.

"No one knows, Black Star. No one knows." Cid was massaging his temples and wondering why he didn't go for the elementary age group instead. "All right." He trudged on, resolute to move to greater things. "I think we've covered enough of the basics for now, and enough of the safety side. You know the science. What hormones increase when humans fall in love, children? Yes, Maka?"

"Dopamine, serotonin, and adrenaline."

"Good. Tomorrow we'll shift to sex and soul relations." Over the years, Cid had found the knack to make his closing remarks just as the final bell rang.

KILL

KON

KAN

KON

(Time skip!)

The next day, no one noticed the kid in a sharp black suit sitting in the back of the room. Instead, they all stopped and stared at the massive TV parked at their teacher's desk. Today was a video day. Soul couldn't resist a high-five with Black Star, and everyone else seemed pleased as well. At the opening bell they all scrambled into their seats. They didn't know the course of their Technician/Weapon relationships would be forever changed by what they were about to hear.

Soon Cid had turned on the video. All the screen held was two lines, blue and red, on a graph. Soon they started to move. They fluctuated up and down, and most of the time they stuck together. Where blue went, red went. "Bo-rrring." Black Star moaned, rolling his r's as he always did. Cid paused the video. "Can anyone tell me what this is? Yes, Oxford?"

"It's a Resograph."

"Correct. Care to explain what a Resograph is to the class?"

"A Resograph charts the synchronization pattern of two souls." Oxford said. He was one of those students who loved to hear the sound of their own voice, particularly during class.

"Yes. This pair is particularly well-synced, and that is because they are a meister and weapon pair. Now I'll display a resograph of the same pair six months later."

After a bit of fumbling and fastforwarding, a new graph came onto the screen. Where the lines had simply been close before, they now occupied the same place. A purple line was in place of a blue and red line, as if they had been mixed together. The class was amazed.

"Is this the ideal pair, Professor?" Oxford asked. Cid shook his head. "No, Oxford, and you'll see why in a minute."

Suddenly, the two lines split and went haywire, spilling into opposite ends of the graph. A gasp ran through the entire class. And they snapped together into a single purple line again. The same cyle seemed to repeat over and over, until they split so far they seemed to exit the graph. The last shift had an air of permanence.

"What happened, class?" Cid inquired. No one volunteered an answer. Cid launched into lecture mode. "Puberty happened. The first graph was of the pair when they were both thirteen. By the time they were fifteen, they were unable to sync again for even the shortest period of time. That's because they fell in love."

Maka felt something curdling in her chest. She wondered what felt so strange, why she felt like she had done something horribly wrong. Even Black Star had nothing to say. He was gazing at the top of his desk. She wondered if he was feeling the same way.

"At first, a romantic relationship between a tech and weapon does wonders for their synchronization. Their wavelengths match to an extraordinary degree. But that kind of connection is unstable. They get absorbed in their own feelings, and get too emotional. They have lover's tiffs during battle. They snap easily in and out of sync. If you've learned nothing this whole year, you'd do well to keep this in mind: The connection that'll keep you alive is a _reliable_ connection. The agitated state lovers are in isn't reliable at all, especially at your blazing hormonal age. The pair here broke up, as most teenagers do. They couldn't work together ever again. Years of training together had to be undone. They don't have the right, and you don't have the right, to jeapardize that secure and _platonic_ bond with your partner. This kind of thing is only exaggerated by sex, as you can imagine."

Too many children were squirming in their seats. Cid plowed on, regardless. "If you have the slightest inkling this might happen, I urge you to go to the nurse's office after school. There's a system worked out to seal out those feelings. It's a harmless operation, and it'll ensure you a stable pattern with your partner for years to come. Yes?"

"Will anything else change if we opt for that?"

"No, Killik. Nothing will change at all."

KILL

KON

KAN

KON


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: With any luck there'll be a DOUBLE surprise in this chapter.

Soul and Black Star both stared at the screen, mesmerized.

"What is he _doing_?" Soul asked.

"Something horrible." Black Star gulped. He leaned closer to the screen. They were sharing the same train-wreck syndrome. Each passing second was worse and worse, but they couldn't stop watching.

"Dude. You're a freak." Soul griped. He still didn't take any action to turn off the TV. That was, until something happened and he _had_ to do something.

"Hey, you hear that?" Someone was clomping and tromping up the stairs to their floor.

"SHIT. That's Maka!" Soul Eater Evans was panicking. He couldn't find the remote. He started pawing furiously through the sofa cushions.

**Clomp, Tromp. Clomp, Tromp. Clomp, Tromp.**

"How do you know? Didn't you say she'd be gone?" Black Star tried to find the channel change buttons on the TV itself. Desperate times, y'know.

**Clomp, Tromp. Clomp, Tromp.**

"I don't know man, fuck! Usually the bookstore takes hours!"

**Clomp, Tromp.** They heard the chiming of keys.

"Found it!" Sweet, blessed cartoons were now playing. So much better than that. The obscene things that man was doing.

Soul was still sighing with relief by the time Maka stepped inside.

"Uh…."

"Eh?"

"Why are you guys watching Princess Tutu?"

Both boys froze, mortified. Black Star was unsure whether the channel change was any improvement, now.

"Whatever. I'll be in my room." Maka said, and started the trek to her bed. In any normal circumstances, Soul would have gone after her. Would have asked what was wrong. Even if he had, he would have been too late. Maka hadn't gone to the bookstore that day.

Soon she was tangled in her sheets, wishing she still had it in her. Wishing she could even cry. But after what had happened, she'd feel empty for a long time. Oh well. She had done the right thing. Right? Right. No matter what she had to give up, she wanted to be there for Soul. She wanted to feel his comfortable weight in his hands, inadvertently smell the faint trace of motor oil when she washed his clothes. She wanted to see more souls disappear down his throat, hear him play the piano again someday. That much hadn't changed.

She knew these things, still. She just didn't feel them anymore.

The next room over, her two best friends had cranked the volume down and resumed watching what they were watching. The man's sultry whispers drifted through the apartment, barely audible.

"You wanna do it in my butt, in my butt? You wanna do it in my butt, in my butt? You wanna do it in my butt, in my butt? Let's do it in the butt. Okay. Give it to me…"

Black Star decided he'd never play unmarked DVDs (particularly ones he found under his desk) ever again.

A/N: Google it if you don't understand. You're missing out on something wonderful.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I haven't been paying enough attention to Tsubaki and BURAKKU SUTAH (amusingly enough, the word Tsubaki always gets caught by my spell check and the words BURAKKU SUTAH don't). Gonna try and get some development for them in this chapter. The story veered in a weird direction because I'm just making this stuff up as I go along.

Tsubaki had never been one to fuss over her appearance. In the girl's washroom, all she needed was a quick wash of the hands and a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Just a little check and she was good to go.

The occupants of the other sinks were the very opposite. A clump of girls were chatting, applying and reapplying makeup with finesse, and toying with one hairstyle after another. None of them noticed Maka hovering behind them, waiting for a turn to wash her hands. Tsubaki was surprised. Her friend would have to be in pretty poor spirits not to be her assertive self and just ask one of them to move.

"Maka-chan, here."

"Oh. Hey, Tsubaki." What was wrong with her? She was avoiding eye contact as she stepped up and twisted the taps, tense and ashen-faced. Time to take a guess.

"Have you seen your mother lately?" Teensy tense ball of nerves she was, the meister jumped a bit.

"No. I haven't." She said, scrubbing her hands with excessive force. They were slender under those big puffy gloves, and they were turning pink under the hot, nearly scalding water.

No mama, no older sisters (this was before Liz showed up and became everyone's Nee-chan). Her father ensured that Maka didn't have too many older female friends – too many of them knew her dad a bit too intimately. After that, who else was there? Suspicions confirmed, Tsubaki laid one pale hand on Maka's shoulder and slipped her a little blue package with the other.

"I'm sorry to hear that. If you're too tired to practice with me and Black Star today, we'll understand."

It took all Maka had to keep from bawling right there and then. She still wasn't used to how attuned her friend was to other's needs. She turned and walked back into the stall.

"Thank you so much, Tsubaki." She called.

(Time skip!)

Staring out the bus window, Tsubaki pondered her own development. For her, it hadn't been anything like Maka's. Nothing had come unexpected, because women in her carefully bred family shared the same traits, the same patterns, the same paths, nearly the same body.

At eleven, her mother had known when to switch her to sleeping on a decrepit cot instead of her usual soft futon. Tsubaki hated the change. If she didn't know better, she would have told her mother it was too itchy, that it took ages to fall asleep on top of that old sinisterly stained thing. But Tsubaki knew her mother too well to complain about, well, anything she did. She would realize why in a few weeks, anyway.

When she used to pore over her book of Western myths, she read the story of the man named Atlas who carried the Earth on his shoulders over and over again. His illustration made him seem like a pillar, and his face wasn't even strained. It looked almost effortless for Atlas to support all that weight. Atlas, she thought time and time again, was like her Mama.

Mama was the one who kept the family traditions alive. An improperly tied obi never escaped her notice, and her iron will ensured Tsubaki and her brother would never see a real television until they left home. Under Mama's watchful eyes the gardeners didn't slack off, and the cooks gave their best. Mama carried the household, and certainly her children's world, on her slim shoulders.

As such, Mama had told her daughter everything she needed to know about being a woman of the family when the time came. "If you want to go out into the world later, Tsubaki, I won't be able to stop you." She had said grimly. "But mark my words, girl. You may be your own person, but part of you will always belong to me as your mother. Keep your virtue. Don't run off with just any man. Bring him home and I'll approve him, or not. Understood?"

There had been no right answer but "Yes".

Tsubaki wondered if she would have anyone to bring home at this rate. Black Star hadn't understood why Maka left practice early. In fact, he'd been furious. Soul had nearly punched him when he screamed "CHICKEN SHIT!" after her, so oblivious to what everyone else could see. It had been another situation for Tsubaki to defuse, and though the boy was swell and all, she wasn't sure she could spend the rest of her life smoothing things out for him.

Funny how these things turn out.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks for reviewing, folks. I don't ask for 'em because, I dunno, it's kinda like saying "gimme attention" in some cases. But I do enjoy getting them. :D Anyway, sorry to say but there's more Maka drama in this chapter. I promise it's the last time.

(From last chapter: Rewind a bit.)

She'd had a thing for him for more than a month. But starting the procedure, she was already realizing things. Jarring things. Harsh things, and very quickly. For example, she'd only _known_ him for a little more than a month.

She was sitting inside a dark room, thick with towering bookcases. What meager light was there reflected off of rich traces of gold, scattered everywhere. Nothing fancy, mind you. She'd been here before, and in a sense, she'd always been here. This was her soul. The only newcomer was a man sitting on the sofa beside her. The school nurse.

"You're doing fine. I want you to dig into your memory. When did you start your attachment?"

Medical professionals used cold terminology like that, phrases that didn't really make sense to her. Like "sexually active". Those words betrayed a perspective based purely on science, blank and mechanical. But couldn't she use a little perspective?

"Ms. Albarn?"

"Oh, sorry."

Focus. She thought of the first time her heart had skipped. The dark notes were rolling from the piano, and as quickly as they came, they stopped. The boy turned and smiled widely-wrong. It was a grin instead, huge and jagged. She'd never seen an expression like that before. When she took his hand and shook it, the first time they'd touched, she felt something twinge in her chest.

"Good, Ms. Albarn. That's exactly what we needed to pinpoint. Think of similar incidents." The nurse was now holding a fist-sized chunk of pink substance in his hands. It was wriggling like a fish, trying to escape.

She plugged onwards:

Catching him in his scythe form.

The first time he'd said her cooking was good.

Their first high-five.

Her arms clasped around him as they rode his orange scooter.

The memories kept coming, but she was starting to see how intensely she had responded to mundane things. They weren't important things, really.

Wait.

No.

They were still important things, she decided, but not important in the same way. She was recalling the beginning of a beautiful thing - their partnership. Hell, they'd still barely even started. But to try and find evidence of more was a bit ludicrous.

"Looks like we found it all. Wait a few seconds, please. This won't take long." The man was struggling with an armload now. She watched him grunt while he wrestled the pink mass into a heavy wooden trunk. He slammed the lid and locked it. Silently, he handed her the key.

"Unlock it someday if you really think you can handle it," he told her. How patronizing. She'd do whatever the hell she wanted with that trunk, whenever she wanted.

Just as he was about to snap his fingers and bring them both back into his office, he hesitated. "One other thing. Although it's better for you in the long run, you've sealed away a part of yourself. For a while, it'll hurt. You might even regret it for a short time. But whatever you do, don't open that trunk."

Maka nodded.

(Time skip!)

They had begun practicing again, since she didn't need to lie down in the afternoons anymore. She clasped hands with Soul, and watched him shimmer as he shifted into a scythe. His weight was warm against her hands, all the way through her gloves and to her palms. Again. But something was different this time. Without her usual heart-thumping reaction, she felt more of him. They had synchronized better than ever before.

"I dunno what you've been reading, Maka, but it's something good."

She smiled, but her attention was on other things. Black Star was charging at them, after all.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I couldn't think of anything for this chapter for a while because I wanted to write something for SE and he's one underdeveloped mofo. Black Star gets a delay because I can't quite grasp his character yet. Since I had to take liberties with Soul, the result is long and maybe too angsty.

It was a damn fine Tuesday morning, and Soul's technician was already pissed. He wondered if it was some kind of record, but to actually document all of the times that happened would reek of effort.

She had her panties in a twist (not that she would wear anything like panties, magnificent garments he'd only seen in dreams and seedy magazines. His partner wore sensible white briefs, and no one on Earth could have made them sexy). He knew all of the aforementioned information because he was throwing her laundry in the washer. And Maka was having none of it.

"But the work chart says I'm supposed to do the laundry today," she whined. "If we don't keep track well enough now, we'll start to lose track later." Morose Meticulous Maka. It took willpower and sheer valiance for Soul not to roll his eyes.

"It doesn't matter who does what. As long as it gets done it's fine, right?" Soul didn't care at the moment this scene was horridly, stomach-churningly familiar. There was absolutely no way he'd risk her seeing his sheets.

"Yeah, but without a system it doesn't get done. That's the whole point. You left out a bunch of records and food wrappers out yesterday. And stinky socks." Things were heading south, fast.

"Harpy."

"Prick."

This dialogue was definitely not cool. Memories began to rise like a kraken from the deep. Disgust rocked his bowels and his temper flared. And, so typically masculine, words failed him. He cranked the dial on the washer, hit the "start" button a bit too hard, turned, and left.

He nearly flew down the stairs, and it was a good thing too. The bus would be coming soon. At least, that was an almost-viable excuse.

"Soul, wait!"

Shit. She sounded upset already, even sorry. In a complex chain reaction, he felt simultaneously:

A. Irritated because he wasn't ready to apologize yet. Even if she did it first.

B. Guilty, because her feelings were hurt.

C. Doubly irritated at himself, because he had made her feel that way.

All of this was exaggerated because he was still running on account of that goddamn bus. He managed to catch up in time, but it almost wasn't worth it. Gasping for breath wasn't his style.

Soul wondered for a truly nasty second if he should let the bus driver know another passenger was on her way. But, praise the courtesy gods above, he did. His meister boarded the bus panting nearly as badly as he had been.

In a perfect world, Soul would have said "Hey," smiled a tentative smile, and tapped the seat next to him. Apologies unsaid but everything mostly forgiven, she would have plopped down beside him and heaved a long sigh.

Instead, he simply scowled and stared out the window. She was a big enough girl to find her own spot, wasn't she? Anyway, this wasn't about her or what had been said. This was something that cut deep; to a time before he'd met her or even begun to walk.

It was all about his parents. Their baseless bickering had begun at breakfast and all too often ended with screaming matches after dinner. It wasn't like they were abusive or anything. They took great care not to break, slam, or throw anything, and most of the time Soul was sent to his room before things took a real turn for the worse.

He might have been able to deal with it, if that had been the extent of their conflict. He had piano practice for when they got too loud, after all. What was unbearable was that even in times of brittle peace they were still sniping at each other. Seemingly innocuous interactions hovered at the edge of his earliest (and happiest) memories.

Mom was saying something grumpy to Dad while he was trying to spot the tiger at the zoo. Dad was giving Mom a mean look while he snapped his son's seatbelt in place. Even when their other half wasn't around, it continued.

"Here's to a guy's night in," his dad had said, toasting the occasion to his friends with beer. "Nice to get away from the wife and all the nagging, eh?"

"Soul, it's nice you can play the piano so well, but you should go for a more stable career. Men who can't support their wives are absolute scum. You know that, don't you?" Mom's hands were clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel.

Every time it felt terrible, because he could understand both of them. His dad was irresponsible, crude, and a loser. His mom was nagging, relentless, and a control freak. It still felt disloyal to acknowledge it, so he never said anything back when they vented. He knew he was powerless in their feud, so he focused on changing the only thing he could.

Resolved not to become like his impotent father, he threw himself towards manhood and refinement like a shipwrecked sailor throws himself towards shore. He read about planes, trains, and automobiles. He devoted himself to the piano and practiced with manic energy every day. With talent and dedication combined, his teacher was soon recommending he expand to other instruments. He trained until he could run even while his arm was a heavy scythe blade.

Striving towards excellence wasn't his only rebellion. He had always been a levelheaded boy, so cynicism was right up his alley. He developed a borderline surly attitude. His parents had unknowingly taught him to question everything another person said, a fact that left his teachers dangerously close to cussing up a storm. He perpetually repeated a mantra of "calm, cool, and collected" to himself.

All of that effort, and he had been acting immature and squabbling with his partner without even realizing it. So unbelievably not cool.

A/N: Jesus Christ, six paragraphs about "Baaaww, bad parenthood".


	9. Chapter 9

(Long) A/N: I'll be honest to readers patient enough to get this far. This story has absolutely no direction. Yep, sorry. None. Zip. Zilch. My vague goal is to explore the first year at Shibusen, ending when I get to the first episode. But I'll stray into all sorts of weird directions till then on a whim, because it's what I write best. Continuity between chapters is guaranteed, though. Lemme know if writing quality deteriorates.

Maka glowered at the desk before her. Stupid Soul. Asshole Soul. Inconsiderate white-haired punk. Would he even have cared if she had missed the bus this morning? She felt her thoughts brew and churn until they condensed into a single question. She scribbled it down, relieved for then, and got back to her independent study.

At the closing bell, she hopped down to the center of the lecture hall. Cid was there, gathering his papers.

"Professor Cid?" She initiated.

All her teacher could manage in return was a grunt while he slung his bag over his shoulder. He hated waiting around after school and grading things, unless he could use it as an excuse not to do something else. Right now, all he could think about was home and the scent of Nygus's sweet, sweet baked goods. The woman outdid herself trying a new recipe every week.

"Why does Shibusen encourage weapons and technicians to live together? Even to the point of providing housing for them?" Maka inquired.

"Funny you should ask that." Cid said, smiling. "I didn't like living with my weapon at first, but I think most pairs will end up enjoying it. Now if you'll excuse me…."

"But-"

"If anyone would know about that kind of thing, Maka, it would be your dad. Believe it or not." Now the huge teacher was close to smirking. The Death Scythe had begged him, actually, to plug him into conversations here and there. But it was true, wasn't it? The Death Scythe had been through catastrophes with his first partner, and he'd still been willing to move in with his future wife.

She had been this close to huffing and stomping away. But unless you knew about her taste in music, Maka was a creature of dignity. She thanked her teacher for his time and left.

…

"Dude, what's wrong? You've been pissed all day." Killik said, and gave his somewhat-friend a light shove. People who acted surly for no good reason made him mad in turn. Soul scrambled for a reason, and found one. Quickly.

"Nothing much. It's just that you gotta wonder sometimes." He grumbled.

"Bout what?"

"You ever know someone who's almost too smart for their own good with some things, but dumber than usual about other things?" Soul asked.

"Totally. Oxford, man. Oxford." Killik was cringing at some memory.

"Dude?"

"He couldn't find his way back to the complex from Stone Street the other day."

"No way. It's only two blocks." Soul couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I know man, I know. But, get this. He was seeing it from a different _angle_ this time. Changes everything." They exchanged exasperated gestures. Soul stuck to his treasured facepalm, and Killik rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but what were you saying? Maka, right?"

"Uh huh. She's into trance fusion." He'd dropped the bomb.

"Absofuckinlutely no." Even more than Oxford's directional helplessness, this was appalling. It was only a cover, though. Even if that had sucked, it wasn't nearing the magnitude of that morning.

"I'm totally serious."

"Can't blame you for being pissy today, then. Did you at least try and show her something good?"

"Campaigned all night. We went from Beethoven to Arethra Franklin."

This time Killik shoved him in earnest, but getting Soul to lose his balance was harder than it looked. "I get how it's screwed up, dude, but you went about it all wrong."

"Huh?"

"You go from the top down. Trying to cram something completely different down her throat is kind of being a tool." And Soul had thought his music buddy would sympathize, if no one else.

"Well, I dunno anything with thudding beats like that."

"Lemme help you out, then. Least I can do." Killik couldn't imagine a world where partners hated each other's music. He danced with Thunder and Fire almost once a week.

…

His elation was nauseating. Within seconds of her sitting down on the couch, Papa's eyes had turned to geysers. Which made her go get the Kleenex, which, of course, made him even happier. Papa hadn't even tried to answer her question yet, and Maka already wanted to go home.

"Okay, I'm sorry. What did you want Daddy to tell you?"

She stifled a sigh. "Why they want weapon and technicians to live together. I don't get it. After a while, they get under your skin. Nearly forcing us to be in such close proximity…It's like they want us to hate each other."

"So you're at that point, then?" Maka looked up.

"Eh?"

"Don't worry, sweet little Maka." He crooned, still barely suppressing his joy in seeing her. "It happens to everyone eventually. You feel like you're reaching your breaking point, right?"

"Well, not exactly."

"As much as Daddy would love to see you kick Soul out, that's not what I want you to do. There's a reason we want you kids stuck together."

"And that's…?"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to hate someone you live with? It's annoying, sure, but you'd be surprised at how hard it is to stay angry." Spirit smiled. Memories were bobbing to the surface of his thoughts like shiny delicious apples. A young Stein trying to cook chicken without dissecting it was a good one.

"If anything, it's easy. There are so many little things that happen that make me want to slam his hand in a car door." Maka was seething with her own memories. There he was:

Forgetting to screw the jam jar lid back on. Never fully closing the taps, after twisting them on. Not scrubbing the dishes enough before loading them, ensuring totally unusable crusty plates. "Absentmindedly" eschewing headphones and starting volume wars between their rooms. Getting home to find all the Coke was gone, and just a day after she'd bought it. Or even worse, drinking all of a liter bottle but a little pittance left at the bottom, not even enough to fill half a glass-

"If you manage to put up with those things, sweetie, you'll manage to put with anything he does. How do expect total weapon-technician unity if you can't even get along playing house in your tiny apartment?" Spirit chided.

"Is that you, Papa?"

…

For once in their time living together, Maka came home to a surprise that wasn't nasty. More than not-nasty, it was lovely. Soul was sitting on the couch with his characteristic jagged grin plastered all over his face, and a remote in his hand. A new stereo had taken up residence in their living room.

"Soul…?"

He jabbed one of many buttons, and soon a wall of sound had slapped her in the face. It was okay, though. To her surprise, it was sound from him she could actually enjoy. He didn't even have to read her lips to know she loved it.

_One thing I know is that life is short. The next time someone's teaching, why don't you get taught. It's like that, and that's the way it is. _

Two important things were admitted that night: A.) Electronic beats weren't always dull and overly repetitive, and B.) Soul was not trapped in the last century of music.

Win-win. The two shook hands and prepared to face a new period of domestic hell together.

A/N: Sorry for Spirit being OoC in acting too cool. Credit to a lot of the ideas goes to a blog called I Hate My Flatmate. It's got some naughty language, but it's a great read. Oh, and another question for those STILL reading. What is the maximum number of OCs you're willing to put up with in a Soul Eater fanfic? Rest assured, none will appear in this one.


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